Comfort from Afar
by Ariyah
Summary: MiM turns his ear to a single voice, just as he has every night for the past couple months. She doesn't know and she never will. But he listens anyway. One-shot. By Ariel of Narnia.


**Disclaimer:** I own only the shutters and squeaky door. Possibly the farm. The randomly named children I pulled from thin air.

**Author's Note 1:** I went with a more bookverse MiM because, frankly, I prefer the book-him over the movie-him.

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A frosty-white glow shone in the sky of perpetual midnight blue. MiM smiled down at the children of Earth, even though he couldn't see them with his naked eyes. His moonbeams spoke of only good things: Pitch was nowhere to be seen. _There is rest from him tonight_. He pulled his golden ear trumpet to his ear. With just the finest adjustments here and there, the trumpet picked up bits of speech from children miles apart. Finally, he fixed onto one child's voice as he had every night for the past few months.

"Good night, Mother."

"Good night, sweetheart."

MiM felt slightly guilty about eavesdropping like this – and doing so every night, no less – but it was the most he could do. Even if she never knew it, he would listen. At least until she didn't need him anymore.

"You're not going to stay up late again, right?"

MiM heard an indistinct murmur that sounded like it could be an "I won't".

"I love you."

"I love you too."

A door closed – he could tell from only the creak it always gave.

Then silence. A very long silence. MiM waited. _Is she asleep? Maybe she doesn't need these nightly talks anymore._ But he waited. _She _has_ been showing improvement; perhaps she's recovered from it all? But then, she hasn't shown _that_ much improvement._ So he waited. _Has the rotation of both Earth and the moon messed up my coordinates? No? Hmm. Should I turn my ear to other children?_ Yet still, he waited.

At last, he heard the faint click of a latch being drawn. More silence, but a full, laden silence that trembled under the weight of unspoken thoughts. He nestled the ear trumpet more comfortably in his ear and listened. Listened to the silence. Listened to the soft sigh. Listened to the little voice he'd grown accustomed to hearing.

"Hello," she murmured.

_Hello, dear._

"I wish you were here."

_I know, little one._

"Michael tried birdcalls again today. He's getting better. But it's not the same. Rosalie and Violet are still sick, but they're allowed to sit outside for a little bit now. I wish I could cheer them up; their home is so tiny, you know, and they have to share it with their five brothers. Wee John fell into the mud and started making mud pies, but when I tried to play with him, his mother took him inside and I didn't see him after that. And she didn't even explain why or anything. She never used to do that. And even Willa is different around me now."

_I understand. You are not alone, but you _are_ lonely._

There was a long pause, then she continued, "The spring festival is coming up, but I think it'll be different too, just like everything else. I won't play any of the games this year. Not after the accident. I can't. Besides, Caroline is faster: she and Willa will make a good team for the three-legged race."

_Don't withdraw; you are doing so well._

"Father bought extra seed wheat this year and keeps on talking about plowing more land. I think he's hurting too, even if he pretends to just be working harder on the farm. And Mother always has this sad look in her eyes." She sighed and MiM could sense a sob threatening to afflict her. "I can't even pretend to be normal. Sometimes, I can go on for a while, but then something always happens that makes me –" The sob forced its way out and she sniffled. MiM's heart fluttered with sympathy. Silence prevailed, broken only by muffled gasps of emotion. Only when they had slowed did she speak again. "Sometimes… I have dreams."

MiM listened even more closely. _What kind of dreams, dear?_

"Sometimes, they're good ones, happy ones. And then other times –" She stopped again, more abruptly. MiM strained his ear and thought he heard a footfall. Then shutters suddenly clicked shut and he heard the rustle of bedcovers. A door squeaked open, then closed again. He waited. Sure enough, the shutters opened again a few minutes later and the voice resumed, even softer than before. "I have to go; Mother is afraid I'm going batty, talking to you every night. She doesn't say so, but I know the neighbours have been telling her. But I'm not crazy, I'm _not_."

_No, dear, you're not. You're just healing._

The sob came back and her voice dropped to a small whisper. "Come back. Please?"

_If only, little one._

"If you're out there – somewhere up there –, I hope you can hear me."

MiM braced himself. _Peace upon this child_, he petitioned fervently.

"I love you, Jack."

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**Author's Note 2: **Inspired by Bruno Mars' "Talking to the Moon", of which I'm by no means a fan, but inspiration comes from the oddest places sometimes...

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